


Swansong

by Merit



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Future Fic, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-02 17:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: Everyone retires eventually.





	Swansong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxfireflamequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxfireflamequeen/gifts).



Yuri was twenty six when he retired.

The doctor, white coat blinding, smiled sympathetically at him. Yakov was grim looking over her shoulder.

“I'd recommend that you retire sooner than later,” she murmured. The world was screaming, a high pitched sound that sent shivers down Yuri's spine. He blinked, leaning away from her, avoiding Yakov's gaze. He'd never gotten out of the habit of _not_ having him there during his medical checkups.

“I can skate one last season,” Yuri said, running an internal check of his body. His hip ached, but it had ached sporadically since a bad fall three years ago during the Russian Nationals. He'd won anyway.

“I'd recommend - ”

“But I'm cleared to skate?” Yuri pressed.

The doctor's lips thinned as she regarded him. She was paid with money that Yuri brought in, and the State had paid for both of their professional beginnings. She looked away, swallowing.

“Yes,” she said reluctantly and Yuri nodded.

“Yuri,” Yakov breathed. Yuri stilled and smiled quickly up at him.

“You'll need to be very careful,” the doctor started and Yuri was only half listening.

He decided he needed something fantastic, something extraordinary for his last season. A bookend to his glorious career, the most successful male skater of all time.

His seniors career had begun with _Agape_ , with Victor choreographing his routine, a routine that helped him win his first Grand Prix.

Victor would be his coach. Victor would choreograph his final seniors routines.

Yuri nodded.

 

* * *

 

Yuri called Victor, propping up his phone, when he got home from the doctor's. He'd left before he could get trapped by Yakov, running all the way home. His hip was sending stabbing feelings down his leg when he collapsed on his couch, air tight in his throat.

Victor blinked slowly when Yuri told him. And then he smiled.

“You want me to be your coach?” He said, a furtive look crossing his face. Yuri rolled his eyes. Victor couldn't be underhanded if he tried.

“You will be my choreographer. And coach. Shared with Yakov,” Yuri added. The corners of Victor's eyes crinkled fondly. “That emphasizes your wrinkles you know.”

“That's not a very nice way to ask someone a favor,” Victor said sternly, waving a finger at Yuri.

Yuri's fingers were tapping a fast beat against his thigh.

“Don't you want to come back? Feel the ice in your lungs?” The words tumbled out of Yuri's lips.

“I still do skate,” Victor said dryly. “We did an ice show together last summer!”

Yuri rolled his shoulders, nervous energy refusing to settle. It _wasn't_ that same. It wasn't competition. And Victor's watching him, with a knowing look on his face, and Yuri hated it. Yuri looked away, shoulders slumping.

“I'll do it,” Victor said lightly and Yuri's eyes snap back to Victor's face. He had a curious expression on his face, eyelids lowered, bright specks of blue peeping out.

“Good,” Yuri said, relief making every tense muscle in his body relax. He's suddenly aware of the pain his hip again and he shifted. Victor's watching him and Yuri swallowed, nerves tingling down his spine.

“You still train in St Petersberg?” Victor asked, as if he didn't know, still didn't follow Yuri on a myriad of social media.

“Yeah,” Yuri said. He'd been offered, multiple times, very lucrative deals to go to certain rinks. He'd been tempted. But Grandpa wasn't in Canada or America, Yakov wouldn't leave St Petersberg, people could come to him. And people had, people had flocked to the lure of his success, wanting to be close to him because of it.

“I'll be there in three days,” Victor said. “You can show me what condition you're in.”

Yuri nodded. Victor ended the call. His phone was hot in his hand. Yuri leaned back into his couch.

Three days.

Barely any time at all.

 

* * *

 

The air was purer mid jump, caught in his throat, the ice sweeter when he landed clean. And there was Victor, smiling and clapping, “Good,” he said and Yuri felt sixteen, fifteen again. His stomach fluttered, his heart beat fast, echoing in his ears.

“Just good?” Yuri said, instead, the words sounding insipid. He resisted the urge to cringe.

“You've improved your triple toe loop since last summer,” the words felt like honey and Yuri felt drawn to Victor like he was the sun, skating slowly over to where he stood.

Yuri nodded, short and sharp. “I thought so,” he said. “Have you thought of a routine yet? I can't just practice jumps all summer.”

Victor smiled. The bright blue of his shirt matching his eyes. The light filtered through the tall windows in the rink. It was still early, Yuri had stumbled out of his bed, his cats meowing their displeasure over being waken up. But while this was _his_ rink, he also shared it with nearly a dozen other skaters. Most of them seemed a bit too young.

But Victor had retired. Then Georgi. Mila had retired three years ago. And the rink was filled with strange faces and Yuri was always practicing anyway. He had never planned on making friends with his fellow skaters.

It had just happened like that when he was younger.

“I have,” Victor said, sliding closer, his skate almost whisper quiet on the ice, his knee brushing against Yuri's. It jolted him, his breath catching. Victor's breath was warm across his face, despite the ice beneath them. “Have you heard the tale of the phoenix?”

There's a fire in Victor's eyes and Yuri can't stare away from the flames.

 

* * *

 

He had Victor staying over at his apartment. The sun barely sets in the summer and after the a long day at the rink, conditioning his body, perfecting the routine, all Yuri wanted to was sprawl on the couch and watch mindless television. His cats agree, jumping on his body, nestling in the crook of his knee.

Victor was babbling something in the kitchen and Yuri couldn't summon the effort to listen. He drifted off, the sun falling in sharp lines through his half open blinds, Victor murmuring.

He woke up, uncertain of how much time had passed, when he felt another person's presence in front of him. He stirred, half opening his eyes.

Victor was smiling down at him. Causing more wrinkles, Yuri thought idly, though he didn't comment.

His apartment smelled delicious.

“I made dinner,” Victor said, wearing a ridiculous apron. It had a cat on it, Mila had gifted to him a few years ago, because cat themed gifts apparently never got old.

“I've never worn that,” Yuri said, the words coming out slurred. He yawned, covering his mouth with a hand, rubbing at his eyes with the other.

“No?” Victor said, twirling, the apron spinning around with him. “I think it is cute.”

Yuri blushed, ducking his head, letting the hair he had never bothered to get cut, fall into his eyes.

Dinner was surprisingly delicious. Yuri had his mouth too full to say anything other, “It's good!” But Victor laughed, watching him with a fond expression on his face.

“When you retire,” and there's a pause, the food sinking like a dead weight in Yuri's stomach, “You have more time for things like this,” Victor murmured.

Yuri looked away.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't deliberate – that's what Yuri had rehearsed in his head.

But he hadn't told anyone he was retiring after this season. Oh people knew – people like Yakov and Victor. But he'd keep quiet when reporters asked – and once you hit a certain age, injuries piling up like bad lovers, they always _asked_. Yuri was bored and flippant verging on rude, but that's how he always was, right? They expected that out of him now, even if he wasn't the bad boy of skating, the bright young thing that had yanked the crown off Victor's head.

That was old news.

Yuri was having more appreciation for Victor's love of surprise, the older he grew.

So Yuri was rude, Yuri denied everything.

Victor hadn't been rude. Victor had been smooth and charming but Yuri felt like he was mouthing the same old denials, that Victor had said in the last few years before he retired.

It felt like wearing another person's skin.

He had Victor as his coach. That made people interested in him again, nostalgic for a time when Victor had been the undisputed champion. He saw grown reporters blush and giggle as they interviewed Victor, throwing softball questions that they barely listened to, awestruck merely to be in his presence.

Yuri rolled his eyes.

Victor wasn't even _skating_ anymore. He hadn't skated for real for years.

But still they were obsessed.

Victor was still a legend.

Yuri's heart thumped twice. That hadn't changed either, he thought ruefully, pressing a hand against his chest.

The air seemed to clear ahead of him as he skated out to the center of the rink, the lights dimming around him. His heart slowed, the music only moments away from starting.

Victor, bright and shining across the rink, gave him a thumbs up.

He'd announce his retirement when he won gold, he decided.

And Yuri started his, _their_ , routine.

 


End file.
